


Lost future

by ganzvielliebe



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kid fic (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganzvielliebe/pseuds/ganzvielliebe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we want things, things we can’t have, things beyond reality. Sometimes, the only hope is that the pain of unfulfilled longing will eventually fade to a dull throbbing of melancholy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost future

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: the-tardis-blue-notebook  
> A/N: The idea for this fic has been in my mind for ages, but I've been lacking motivation to write it for a long time, because it always sounds nicer in my head than it does on the paper/screen.

The sound of a door opening, light steps and jingling keys announce Louis coming home.

Harry shuts the laptop, after taking one last look at the screen – just long enough to feel his guts twist again.

He blinks, he breathes, the table comes into his focus. The tea standing untouched in front of him has long gone cold; a reminder that Louis was gone for a couple of hours, because he doesn’t ever waste any tea.

 Louis met for lunch with a friend from back home whose name Harry can’t remember. He’s fairly sure it starts with “A” or “M”, which means that it’s more likely to be “Jack”. However, right now, there are other things on his mind than tea or names. Or maybe there are names on his mind…

As Louis enters the room, Harry tries to lock these thoughts away, keeping the key for later. The smile – the real smile, because Harry learned the difference long time ago – shows Louis’ good mood and Harry doesn’t want to be the reason for his smile to falter.

Louis comes over to Harry, jumps on the couch and presses a sweet kiss to Harry’s lips.

“Hi love.” And Harry can’t help but smile because that’s just what Louis does to him; stupid smiles and too many butterflies.

“Hey Lou. How was lunch?”

“It was really good actually. I mean, Chris and I”, Harry internally shakes his head, because _Chris_ , “we weren’t best friends or anything. We just had theatre lessons together and it was … interesting to talk to him. He wants to become a drama teacher and you know… if things were different, his life could be mine as well.”

Louis looks at Harry expectantly, maybe to find an answer or at least a smile. He doesn’t find either. Not when Harry is imagining a life without Louis, a life without music, just a bunch of shattered dreams. It’s not difficult to picture Louis as a drama teacher though, with his interest in theatre, love of children and all his personality.

“Have you been crying, Haz?” Louis asks worried and Harry wishes Louis wouldn’t have noticed, but at the same time he’s glad Louis did. Louis always notices when things are off and he cares enough to be genuinely worried.

“No.” They both know that Harry can’t lie or act to save his life.

Louis’ eyes flicker to the laptop that’s still sitting on Harry’s lap.

“Tell me you didn’t look for hate again.” He huffs out a sigh.

Harry is honestly surprised because he hasn’t even considered that. For a moment, he’s disappointed that Louis thinks that, when he should know that Harry doesn’t do that anymore, hasn’t done that for a long time. A closed chapter. But then he wonders what it must look like to Louis; the shut laptop in front of him, tear streaks on his cheeks, defeat in his shoulders.

“No.” He says slowly as he faces Louis.

“So what else then?”

“Would you believe me if I said it isn’t important?”

“Since you’re clearly upset, no, I wouldn’t believe it. I mean, I wish you’d talk to me rather than bottling it up – and I know you do this – but if you really don’t want to tell me, it’s fine.”

Harry hugs Louis sideways, nuzzling into his neck. Small kisses whispering “thank you” and “love you”. Sometimes, he doesn’t understand how he got so lucky to have Louis, to have his love, his trust. Most people would squeeze whatever is worrying him out of him just to leave him empty and longing for comfort as soon as their curiosity is satisfied.

Therefore, Harry is so incredibly thankful for Louis to not only care but to give him a choice. He doesn’t voice his gratitude, because Louis won’t have any of it. Louis once explained saying “thank you” would mean they owe each other something; there are no debts in a relationship, though, at least not in theirs.

“It’s stupid.” Harry mumbles into Louis’ shoulder, still unsure whether he really wants to talk about it or not; telling Louis won’t change things, won’t solve the problem.

“Sometimes I’m stupid as well. That’s why we fit.” Louis says in a chipper voice that sounds only a little bit fake.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Now, you’re just getting me curious.” Louis gently pushes Harry away a bit; just enough to put his hands on Harry’s cheeks and make eye contact. Harry sighs, feeling his resistance crumble under the soft touch and the love in Louis’ eyes.

“Promise me not to laugh.”

“Which means that I probably will.”

Hurt flashes across Harry’s face when he imagines Louis laughing at him after telling him.

“Please … not about this.”

Louis must sense how important this is to Harry. He pulls him closer again until Harry’s head rests on his shoulder. Tiny pecks against Harry’s temple say “sorry” and “promise I won’t laugh” and “I’m here for you”. Harry enjoys the affection for a moment or two, enjoys the warmth it evokes, before he swallows. He wants to share this with Louis; he needs Louis to comfort him. With trembling hands he opens the laptop.

Pictures of two gorgeous kids – a boy and a girl – smile at them and if Louis saw Harry from the front, he’d see a mess of sadness and longing, of awe and anger and defeat. Right now, Harry can't fight down the emotions, can't change the fact that he's an open book, but with Louis that's alright.

Harry closes his eyes; the longer he looks at the chocolate brown curls on the screen the less he can fight against the tears.

Louis pulls Harry into a warm embrace and quietly asks. “Who are those kids? They look a bit like…” He trails off. Maybe he understands it, maybe he doesn’t; he’s probably confused.

Harry takes a breath. “Did you know that you can find anything and everything on the internet? Even things…“ He swallows, a feeble attempt to avoid crying. “Even things that don’t exist.” Saying it out loud hurts more than he’d anticipated.

Something in his chest clenches and unclenches. Maybe his lungs, maybe his heart, maybe the mixture of sadness-anger-defeat. He waits for the pressure to dissipate but it never really does. “Someone tweeted me a link to what our … children would look like.”

He hears Louis’ sharp intake of breath and expects Louis to let him go, to look at him. Instead Louis’ grip tightens; he holds Harry together, when Harry is tumbling towards the edge of breaking.

"It looked weird at first. I guess it was because the pictures of us they’d used were weird, but I tried it again and yeah … that’s the result.” He stops, waits for Louis to say something.

Minutes pass while Harry watches Louis falling in love with the pictures on the screen. Harry remembers how he stumbled across the pictures a mere hour ago, the instant longing to have this – children, a family – burning inside of him. For a moment, he was lost in this dream of a perfect life with a family, but reality chased him, caught him quickly and punched him in the gut.

Harry knows that it hurts to lose things – relationships, souvenirs, the favourite stuffed animal – because you grow to love those. But in that moment, he wondered how losing something he’s never had in the first place could hurt so much. Right now, he witnesses the same disillusion settling in Louis and the silence becomes deafening.

“It just … made me realise that there’ll never be a girl with my curls and your gorgeous eyes.” He spills his thoughts. Despite the pain it causes he needs to talk about it, needs Louis to understand his thoughts. “Or we’ll never play football with a boy who is the spitting image of you but has my coordination skills – or lack thereof.”

“Nope, I will not allow your genes to ruin my kid’s football skills.” Louis intervenes and if it wasn’t for the faltering voice Harry would have chuckled at the statement, but the truth – the reality – in that sentence hits him. It takes some time for Louis to fully grasp the accuracy of the phrase. When he does he freezes beside Harry. Thoughts run marathons, running in circles. Love-longing-loss trampling along veins and their loud breathing can’t cover the silent tears.

Harry feels like he has taken over the role as comforter with the way Louis clings to him. So Harry places the laptop aside to pull Louis closer. Usually, Louis is the one to hug and kiss Harry until the tears dry, but, then again, usually they don’t talk about dreams that will never be true.

Sharing the grief for a future they will never have feels strangely right. It still hurts and he expects a dull throbbing of melancholy to always remain, but with Louis next to him he doesn’t feel lost in the sadness.

They stay in that huddled, teary mess for a few minutes before Louis crawls on Harry’s lap and crushes their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Too many tears, too much teeth. Tongues meet in despair searching for passion, searching for love. No time to think, no room to breathe and Harry feels like Louis is sucking any remaining oxygen out of him while they spill their emotions between them.

Kisses and bites turn their lips raw and red, opening them up. Harry holds Louis close, holds him tight enough to leave finger shaped marks, needing more. Fingers pulling sharply on Harry’s hair cause tiny prickles of pain. Harry relishes it; the heat flaring around them, between them. Harry pushes his hands under Louis’ shirt, wants to feel his skin, wants Louis.

Suddenly, Louis pulls away. Panting, red-faced, glassy-eyed – probably mirroring Harry’s appearance. Harry wants to touch, to lick, and to scream at Louis to continue, but he starts to breathe. As his lungs fill with desperately needed oxygen, he realises that he is shaking. The flaming frenzy seeps out of him, leaves his mind clear. He doesn’t understand what just happened; truthfully he’s a bit terrified how much he lost himself.

Louis offers a weak smile and a gentle kiss – an apology. Harry strokes Louis’ face carefully, takes in the tear tracks, the flushed cheeks and the shining eyes. He can’t help but think that Louis is always beautiful and that he is so much in love, it’s almost ridiculous.

“Sorry for turning into a crying mess and sorry for assaulting you.”

“No need to apologise. We both needed it.” Harry winks.

“But it just… hurts… a bit… or, more like, it hurts so fucking much, that no matter what we do or how much we love each other, some things will never happen. But on the other hand, I’m … over the moon that you think so far ahead, that you think about kids – our kids.

If, in a few years, we really want this, we’ll have a family, Haz. We’ll find ways to have kids who we’ll love so fucking much. But kids or no kids, what we have is real and it can… I think it will last forever.”

Louis traces Harry’s collarbones, lets his fingers wander over the inked birds that peek out under Harry’s shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> Any kind of feedback is appreciated.


End file.
